


Vault Girl and the Super Mutants

by saiyanshewolf (gossamerstarsxx)



Series: Shot Through the Heart [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Arguing, Battle Couple, F/M, First Meetings, Firsts, Getting to Know Each Other, Gun Violence, Non-Chronological, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Pre-Relationship, Shooting Guns, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 05:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13451991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamerstarsxx/pseuds/saiyanshewolf
Summary: The vault girl is a damn good shot. MacCready would almost be impressed...if she had any idea what she was doing otherwise, that is.





	Vault Girl and the Super Mutants

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Violence, gore.
> 
>  **Notes** : None, really. I like MacCready. I like exploring his character, and I like developing his relationship with my SS Antha. Unfortunately I'm bad at writing multi-chapter fics, so I'm sticking to a series of one-shots.

# 1.

The first thing MacCready notices about her is the first thing he notices about every woman: her height. He's not proud of it. Seems kinda sexist, makes him seem like he's got a complex. Still, it's the first thing he notices, and the lady in the Vault suit and leather armor is at least five inches shorter than he is. Maybe more, given the heavy boots she's wearing.

After her height, it is her face that catches his attention. Her eyes are brilliant green, like lightning in a radstorm. It is such a startling color that her eyes overshadow her scars.

The burn scar on the right side of her head has marred her hairline and singed off the last third of her eyebrow, but the injury itself doesn't seem to have been too severe - the skin is mottled pale instead of drawn and twisted. The scar on her left cheek is much worse, a thick, raised line crawling up from beneath her jawline toward the inner corner of her left eye, with shallow pits to either side - the marks of clumsy stitches.

MacCready is willing to bet she put those stitches in herself. There is a strange softness in her features that he can't place, and the scars themselves are new.

_If she got those over six months ago, I'll eat my hat._

Even her hair looks soft. She has shaved the right side of her head - likely because of the scar - but the rest of it falls loose over her left shoulder, thick and shiny black.

The woman also has a decent sniper rifle holstered across her back and a dog at her side, and those things pique his interest more than pretty eyes and shiny hair.

So he tells himself.

The woman scans the room, her eyes narrowed. When they land on his face a faint shiver trickles down MacCready's spine, as if her gaze is a crosshair. She walks toward him.

"Dogmeat, sit," she says. "You're MacCready, right?"

"I am," he answers. "Who's asking?"

"My name's Antha. I've got work to do for half of Goodneighbor and I need help."

MacCready tries not to let his surprise register on his face. He has never heard anyone admit to needing help in such a matter-of-fact tone; god knows he has a hard time saying it. As he opens his mouth to state his terms, Antha beats him to the punch.

"I've got your fee. 250 caps," she says, holding out a drawstring bag. "You'll get half of everything else - caps, loot, whatever. Just do what I tell you and be nice to my dog."

MacCready cocks an eyebrow. The only other Vault Dweller he has ever met is Arya, the woman known around the Capital Wasteland as the Lone Wanderer, but so far Antha couldn't be more different. She stands in front of him with one hand on her hip, holding out the bag of caps, her expression neutral, all business as she waits for him to accept or decline.

Well, all business is fine by him. Better that way. He pockets the caps.

"You got yourself an extra gun," he says, and crouches down. He offers the back of his hand to the brown-and-black dog, an unmutated animal that looks like a German Shepherd with one floppy ear.

"That okay with you, buddy?" he asks.

Dogmeat tilts his head to one side, then shoves his cold, wet nose against MacCready's hand, snuffling up into his sleeve before pulling back and looking up at Antha. When she nods he lets out a happy _boof!_  and wags his tail. MacCready scratches him behind the ears before getting to his feet.

"All right, boss," he says, picking up his rifle and swinging it behind his back, "Lead on."

# 2.

Antha doesn't talk much, and that's just fine by MacCready. He didn't leave the Capital Wasteland to make friends. A job is a job and caps are caps.

_And that's the kind of thinking that landed you with the Gunners._

MacCready shrugs off the thought. It's not doing him any good. He's getting paid again, and that's all that matters. So far he and Antha are proving to be a good team, especially with Dogmeat around.

The mutt's got a hell of a nose and is so well trained that it's almost creepy. He recognizes verbal and nonverbal commands, often for the exact same actions, and can move just as silent as any cat MacCready has ever seen. Once he finds an enemy, he points and waits for Antha to tell him what to do.

Most of the time she orders him to hold until she and MacCready can get into position. Seven times out of ten that's all they need to do, because between the two of them they can usually pick off every hostile in the area without ever being seen.

MacCready had wondered how well she used the sniper rifle across her back, and the answer is 'to great effect.' She's almost a better shot than he is; ought to be a better shot, really, but even if she can pick out the eye of a Bloatfly at 400+ yards, she is a miserable tactician and often takes risky shots that end up giving her away.

MacCready finds himself wanting to suggest better positions, point out more effective targets, but he bites his tongue. She's the boss; if she wants his opinion, she'll ask for it.

# 3.

They're cleaning out a Super Mutant stronghold when it happens. It's technically a job from Diamond City, not Goodneighbor, but the payout is an impressive 400 caps; 200 each, plus whatever loot the mutants have gathered.

"Who the hell has that kind of money in Diamond City?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow. "Nobody there ever paid me more than 250 for anything."

"A little sweet talk goes a long way," Antha replies, her lips twitching into a rare smirk that MacCready likes just a little more than he should.

"Now that I'd like to see," MacCready replies. "Considering I hardly ever hear you string over six words together at a time."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he hadn't spoken. That damn little smile of hers had caught him off guard. He expects her to scowl at him or at the very least give him an odd look, but she only shrugs her shoulders.

"You're not exactly chatty yourself," she says, glancing down at the Pip-Boy map. "Unless it rains. Then you whine more than Dogmeat does when I tell him he has to stay outside."

"Hey, I do not whine," MacCready huffs. "I just...complain. Often. Because I friggin' hate getting wet."

"I'm aware," Antha replies. "We can discuss the difference in whining and complaining later, though. We're getting close. Dogmeat?"

He trots over and sits at her feet, looking up at her with his head cocked to one side.

"What do you think, boy?" She crouches down, scratching behind one of his ears. "Any bad guys around?"

Dogmeat makes a soft _rrrrruff_ sound and stands up, pressing his nose to the dusty, rubble-strewn ground. As he snuffles around MacCready sinks into a crouch next to Antha, waiting.

They follow Dogmeat toward the location: a dead-end area between the ruins of what may have been a cafe and the parking deck across the street, near one of the main routes used by traders. The Super Mutants have erected ragged wooden scaffolds around the perimeter, and even at this distance it's hard to miss the massive, green-skinned monsters that pace along one of the rickety walkways.

They inch closer. Dogmeat circles around until they are facing a barrier of junk and barbed wire with a small opening to one side. MacCready can tell that there's another layer of fence just behind it, forming a short, open-ended hallway between the two.

"Like a funnel," he whispers. "We need to get above them."

Antha nods. "Take the parking deck to the right. Should be able to find a good place up there."

MacCready has already picked his spot: top level at the edge of the deck, near a rusted husk of a vehicle that will give him cover.

"And you?" he asks.

Antha nods toward the ruin across the street. "There's an intact fire escape on the other side of this building over here. I'll get to the roof and figure something out."

It is far from a well thought out plan. MacCready opens his mouth to protest...then closes it again.

_Not my problem._

"You're the boss," he says.

Swallowing his reservations, he moves toward the parking deck and follows the winding path upward, leaving his rifle slung across his back and one hand near his sidearm (for all the good that will do him; he has yet to figure out he can be a better shot at 1000+ yards than 10, but the hip-fire on his rifle is unpredictable). To his great relief he encounters nothing on his way up, and the roof itself is deserted as well.

As he approaches his chosen spot, he leaves behind a perimeter of frag mines to cover his back. It isn't a great setup - any Raider with half a brain in their head could slip through and take him out, but he hasn't seen any sign of Raiders in this area. It seems to be dominated by Super Mutants and their hounds, neither of which tend to be very smart.

The old icy excitement floods his veins as soon as he settles into position. Whatever his conflicts about how he makes a living, whatever regrets he has about his time with the Gunners, the fact remains that MacCready is good at what he does. He peers through the scope, watching the Super Mutants mill about below him, oblivious to his presence; the rifle in his hands becomes less of an object and more an extension of himself.

MacCready spots Antha through the scope just before she spots him, and a twinge of anxiety settles in his chest. The position she's chosen is more than a little precarious; it is almost directly above and behind one of the mutants that paces the wooden catwalk, and the ledge of the roof isn't high enough to give adequate cover.

_I'd better pick off the catwalk first, before they give her away._

Antha flashes him a thumbs up; she's found him. With misgivings, he returns the gesture - and the shooting starts.

He drops the mutants on the catwalk with back-to-back headshots, driving the rest into a frenzy. They bellow threats, scanning the rooftops; three run out into the alley through the makeshift funnel, wielding boards and roaring in fury.

Antha fires; a moment later there's an explosion, a burst of flame and smoke in the lower left periphery of MacCready's vision.

 _She hit one of their frag mines,_ he realizes. _Smart._

The smoke clears, leaving behind scorched ground and scattered, green-skinned body parts, but the explosion has the rest of the Super Mutants raging in earnest. MacCready picks off one after another, headshot after headshot, but just before he stops to reload one of the bigger, armored mutants roars in fury, flinging grenades left and right with all its strength.

It's nothing but luck that one of these grenades sails over MacCready's head toward the frag mines behind him. Bad luck, of course, but luck all the same.

MacCready wedges himself into the husk of the car just in time, praying that the explosion isn't enough to send the damn thing flying, to collapse the parking deck. Just before it hits, he hears the first few bone-chilling beeps.

_Shit!_

BOOM!

Even with his hands clapped over them, the explosion has his ears ringing. Heat rushes over him and the car lurches forward with the force of the blast, but the parking deck remains stable. He reloads blind while the smoke clears, then crawls out of the vehicle and back into position; he doesn't need to hear what's happening below to understand.

It's a Suicider, heading for the fence, still close enough to its fellows that one shot to its mini-nuke would wipe them out.

MacCready holds his breath. Fire fills his field of vision just as his finger tenses on the trigger.

_BOOOOOOOOOOOM!_

Heart pounding, he tucks his face into his shoulder to shield himself from the fallout. Smoke envelops him and a touch of nausea creeps in, evidence of the faint radiation. He holds his breath for as long as he can, not wanting to give away his position by going into a coughing fit.

When he deems it safe to look up and take a breath, it locks in his throat.

The open area below him has become a small crater littered with bits of Super Mutant. Antha is kneeling on the half-destroyed wooden walkway. She has no cover, is in the middle of reloading, and one of the last two living Super Mutants is charging toward the platform.

The other is aiming a mini-gun at MacCready's nest.

Adrenaline floods into his veins, driving his heartbeat up until it pounds in his skull like a drum, shrinking his chest around his lungs until it hurts to draw breath, turning every muscle to stone until he - he -

He's going to freeze.

_No!_

He's going to -

_No, goddammit, I said no! Focus!_

MacCready sucks in his breath, inhaling past the panic constricting his chest and forcing the threat of the mini-gun out to the back of his mind. He kneels, sets his rifle against his shoulder, and presses his eye to the scope, forcing himself to measure his breathing into a slow, steady rhythm.

_In...out. In…out._

The Super Mutant's head is in his crosshairs.

_In...hold._

MacCready fires a split second too late. Just before he pulls the trigger the mini-gun churns up a spray of concrete dust in his field of vision. It only throws him off by inches, but the shot takes the Super Mutant in the shoulder instead of its head, and it's already so enraged that it doesn't even register being hit. Snarling in fury, it grabs the supports of the catwalk in its massive hands, shaking them back and forth.

"STUPID BLUE LADY! I'LL WEAR YOUR GUTS AROUND MY NECK!"

MacCready bites back a curse as he takes aim again, but a chunk of concrete flies up and clips him above his eyebrow. The pain cuts deep, enough to make him see stars, and then half his face is awash in red.

He flattens himself to the ground before the Super Mutant can hit him with something more deadly than concrete. Between the blood and the blow to the head he is more likely to hit Antha than his target.

For several interminable seconds MacCready can only listen to the hateful cries of the mutants and the churning roar of the mini-gun; he waits for Antha's scream, waits to hear Dogmeat's pitiful howl as his mistress goes down.

Instead he hears the report of Antha's rifle followed by the sound of a mini-gun winding down.

Stunned, MacCready swipes the blood from his face and risks a peek over the chewed-up rim of concrete at the edge of the parking deck. The Super Mutant with the mini-gun lies spread eagle with nothing but a smear of gore where its head had been less than a minute earlier.

The other one, however, is reaching for Antha. Its huge hand closes around her ankle and she swears, slamming the butt of her rifle into its head, once, twice, over and over -

MacCready wipes more blood from his face with his scarf, then shifts to one knee and socks his rifle to his shoulder. The Super Mutant finally releases Antha, roaring at her, its ruined face contorted with hate.

MacCready lines up the shot yet again, and yet again the timing betrays him.

The Super Mutant tears the supports from beneath the walkway at the same time MacCready pulls the trigger. Antha falls a good six feet and disappears behind the mutant, who once again takes the shot in its shoulder.

"Friggin' hell!" MacCready's hands rush through the reloading process almost of their own accord; he lines up the shot one more time. The monstrous creature is bent over, rearing back with one huge fist -

The Super Mutant's head disintegrates before MacCready ever pulls the trigger.

He stares through his scope, dumbfounded, watching the scene unfold as if it's a series of grisly snapshots that only move when flipped through like a deck of cards:

The now-headless Super Mutant, its fist still moving forward as if its body hasn't realized it no longer has a brain to direct its movements -

Antha, the top half of her body obscured by the mist of blood and brain hanging in the air, holding her .44 Magnum out in front of herself with her left hand bracing her right wrist -

The mad, hateful light fading from her eyes and the sneer melting from her lips as gore showers her upturned face -

Time catches up.

Antha tries to scramble backward, but she can't move through the rubble fast enough. The Super Mutant's massive body slumps forward and lands on top of her, and MacCready finally shakes himself into action.

"Crap," he mumbles, panic rising in his chest as he slings his rifle across his back. "Crap, crap…"

He glances over his shoulder. The grenade had tripped his frag mines. There is no getting back down that way.

MacCready climbs over the hood of the rusted car and peers into the alleyway between the parking deck and the next building. There is enough debris piled up that he should be able to drop without hurting himself.

He thinks.

Probably.

_No time._

MacCready swings his legs over the railing and drops. As soon as he lands his momentum sends him sliding down the sheer slope. He shifts his rifle around to the front just in time and takes the brunt of the skid on the outside of his upper thigh, shredding his old military pants and the first layer of skin.

Dogmeat beats him to Antha. He is already tugging on one of the Super Mutant's arms, whining as he tries to drag the heavy corpse off his mistress.

MacCready hits his knees opposite of Dogmeat and shoves. The body slides away just enough for Antha to scramble out from beneath it. She sits up as soon as she is able, gasping for breath with the desperation of a drowning woman. There is blood everywhere. MacCready can't tell how much of it - if any - is hers, but he fishes a Stimpak out of his pocket nonetheless. He jabs it into her above her hip, through the Vault suit...and then his adrenaline catches up with him.

"What the hell was that?!" MacCready grabs her shoulder as she struggles to draw breath, forcing her to look at him. "You could have died twelve times over, Antha!"

She blinks up at him, dazed. Blood and greenish-grey bits of brain matter fleck her face. After a moment or two her eyes widen in surprise.

MacCready realizes that this the first time he's called her anything besides 'boss.'

Before he can say another word, however, Antha glares at him, narrowing her fierce green eyes to slits and twisting her mouth into a sneer.

"What the hell was I supposed to do?!" she hisses. "I thought you were fucking dead!"

MacCready sits on his heels, irritated by her recklessness, by the vehemence in her voice. He tilts his hat back and scrubs a hand down his stubbled face. "Then that makes what you did twice as stupid!"

"Are you kidding me?!" She shoves blood-slick hair out of her eyes. "I thought that son of a bitch had killed you, MacCready, I thought you were lying up there in fucking pieces! I couldn't let it get away with that!"

MacCready glares at her, incredulous.

"I'm a friggin mercenary!" He spits the word like poison. "I'm not worth dying over!"

"Well good thing I didn't fucking die, huh?" Antha snaps.

MacCready bites back a particularly violent curse. He gets to his feet without another word, hands shaking as he pulls his hat on straight and picks up his rifle again.

"I'm gonna go make sure everything's clear," he mutters, speaking through his teeth. "Stay there and get your friggin breath back before you try to move."

He stalks deeper into the Super Mutant encampment, pulling his ragged scarf up around his nose and mouth to stifle the smell of death and decay that hangs in the air.

_She's a goddamn fool._

When it comes to speaking out loud MacCready tries his best not to swear, but his thoughts are a different story.

_It could have turned that mini-gun on her at any goddamn second and she jumped down there onto that catwalk in the wide open! How the hell did she get to be such a good sniper without knowing the first goddamn thing about sniping?!_

He goes to open an ammo crate and finds it locked tight. Grumbling to himself, he pulls a couple bobby pins from one of his pants pockets and gets to work.

 _What the hell did she mean she thought I was dead, anyway? Because of the explosion? It was_ _behind me! _

The pick pin breaks. MacCready tosses it to the side, mumbling in irritation as he fishes for another.

_Why would she give a shit if it killed me, anyway? The hell am I to her but a hired gun? She could have stayed put and picked those last two off, kept the reward and the loot for herself. She'd have made back what she paid me and then some. Don't make any damn sense._

The pick pin breaks again and MacCready snarls into his scarf, slamming his fist onto the lid of the ammo crate hard enough to make his hand ache. He is just about to bash the damn thing open with the butt of his rifle when Antha comes up behind him.

"Want me to give it a shot?"

MacCready turns and glances at her over the edge of his scarf. There are still a few streaks of blood along her cheeks, and her hair is shining wet with it, but otherwise she seems to have cleaned up and gotten ahold of herself.

He can't say the same. A vague anger still hovers inside his chest, almost like radio static, and so MacCready doesn't reply, knowing he can't trust himself not to mouth off. Instead he gets to his feet and stands back, affecting a sarcastic little bow: _Be my guest._

She pulls two bobby pins from the collar of her Vault suit and kneels in front of the crate. "Watch my back."

"Tch. Somebody damn sure needs to," he mutters, unable to bite his tongue in time.

Antha either doesn't hear him or ignores the comment.

MacCready turns his back to her and scans the area. The world around them is so silent that the soft clicks of the lock seem much too loud.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you."

He turns back to Antha, cutting his eyes in suspicion, but she isn't looking at him. She only stares at the lock, moving her hands by degrees as she feels for the pins. The apology seems genuine, but he shifts on his feet, unsure how to respond. Arguing has always come easier than making nice.

"I overreacted a little myself," he mumbles, scanning the area again so that he doesn't have to look at her. "Guess we're even."

"Will you explain what I could have done differently?" She asks. "When we get back to Diamond City and aren't looking over our shoulders every five seconds, I mean. Also after I bathe."

MacCready looks at her again, even more suspicious than before, but she still shows no signs of screwing with him.

"Yeah, fine." He looks away, feeling even more out of his element. "Just hurry and crack that thing. I don't like how quiet it is out here."

# 4.

"I've got to head back west for a while," she says. There are dark, sleepless circles under her eyes and a pronounced hollowness in her cheeks; she hasn't been eating all that well the past couple weeks, but MacCready had kept his mouth shut.

None of his business.

Just like it's none of his business what's waiting for her back west.

"All right." He shrugs and holds out his hand. "Nice doin' business with you, boss."

Antha takes it. "You might be doing business with me again sooner than you think. I'll be back this way within a few weeks, if I can manage it."

She doesn't look like she could manage the hop skip and jump to Diamond City, much less the trek back across the Commonwealth. It's on the tip of his tongue to say so, to volunteer to go with her, but he swallows the impulse.

"I'll be around unless someone hires me," he says. "Stay sharp."

"You too, MacCready." She releases his hand and pushes her hair back. "Say bye, Dogmeat."

To MacCready's surprise, Dogmeat lets out a thoroughly miserable whine.

"See ya, boy," he mumbles, scratching behind Dogmeat's ears. "You keep an eye on her, all right?"

Dogmeat happy-barks and wags his tail before trotting off after his mistress. Antha pauses in the doorway and glances back, but all she does is wave.

MacCready tips her a two-fingered salute, and she's gone.  



End file.
